Descent
by Saldia
Summary: Rumple's descent into the underworld.
1. Chapter 1

OUAT fic. Usual disclaimers apply. Don't own the characters or world yada yada (if I did, wouldn't be writing fanfic). S3 spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen the first half of S3.

Descent.

She lay on her side, doubled over in pain, face pressed against the gold satin pillow to muffle her sobs. She could taste her sorrow, salty on her lips: tears, mingled with blood from biting down so hard as to avoid screaming his name into the empty night. She hadn't screamed his name then, either, when he had disappeared in front her very eyes, her lips frozen like her body. Instead, she had watched helplessly as he sacrificed himself for her, for all of them, being the hero she always knew he could be- but that he always denied. Even in the end, he refused to believe it.

"I'm a villain", his words floated before her, "and villains don't get happy endings."

"You're not," she replied to his phantom. "I love you."

"I love you, Belle," came the echo from the abyss. In the end, night after night, it was always the memory of that last testament which broke her resolve.

"Rumple".

She choked his name out, over and over again, an empty prayer into the unforgiving dark.

…..

He awoke to the sound of his name being called. It was faint, distant, like a whisper carried on a breeze across an ocean, but it was enough to wake him. Of course, he was especially sensitized to his name being called. Throughout his long life, it had been uttered many times in many places, by many tongues, all of them different yet the same in their desperation. For it was always the desperate that summoned him, their voices leaking desolation like a wound leaking blood. And he always followed it, like the good predator he was. But this voice was different. Yes, there was pain, anguish, desire…but something else too, a fierce strength and a purity about it. He imagined if he could see sound, this one would glow, hot and white. He sat up, but no glowing light or angelic voice greeted him. Instead, a murky darkness and a dead silence swirled about, and it took some time for his eyes to adjust enough to allow him to make out his surroundings.

He was in a room, dark and dank, its' size difficult to fathom in the poor light. There was a smell: earthy, mingled with a nauseating sweetness, like over ripe fruit just beginning to decay. He extended his arms outward, his palms pressing the floor and then travelling up a wall that felt as though it was made of bark. No sooner had his flesh contacted it than a swirl of memories flooded his mind, images of people, places, fragments of his life and then…his death. The final image stabbed through his brain, piercing his mind as surely as the dagger had his heart. If he had not been sitting he would have fallen from the impact. He jerked his hand away from the wall and abruptly as the images had come, they stopped.

"What is this?" He whispered.

"Irkalla," said a voice, "the underworld."

At the voice he felt his body tense. Shock, rage, disbelief warred in his soul for expression. In the end, contempt mingled with his dark sense of irony won out.

"Hello, Milah. Cold day in hell, isn't it dearie?"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The clouds had gathered in the skies above, threatening rain and casting the giant structure of the castle in shadow, an image befitting its name. As the small band of men approached the Dark castle, Neal Cassidy could feel some of the tension leaving him. He didn't miss the look of relief on his companions' faces either. He wondered if his father would have appreciated the irony: that men who once dreaded this very place were now so eager to seek refuge here and what was once viewed as the scourge of the land was now the last bastion of hope against an enemy that was darker and more terrifying that its' previous inhabitant.

It didn't take long for the company to be spotted by the lookout from the castle. It took even less time for the entire group to be engulfed by thick purple smoke. When it finally cleared the companions found themselves out of the forest they were previously in and standing in a corridor inside the castle. No matter how many times they had travelled this way, it still took Neal some getting used to.

"It took you long enough,"

"Good to see you too, Regina," Neal replied, lips curling into a smile.

"You were supposed to be back days ago."

"We ran into some unexpected trouble," Neal said, all traces of humor gone from his voice at the memory of what he and his men had witnessed.

"Well you can tell us all about it at the council meeting. Everyone's already waiting." Regina replied. Without waiting for a reply she turned and stalked off in the direction of the chambers that everyone had come to refer to as the 'war room '. Sighing, Neal gave brief instructions to his companions, then turned and followed the former evil queen.

…

"I don't like this, David," Snow was saying, her brow furrowed in that worried look that he knew all too well. "Alliances are based on trust, the only way we are going to defeat the witch is if we all stand together, if we start withholding information now…"

"I don't like this either," David replied, "But a lot has changed since we left this land, including the people we left behind. And we can't deny the fact that the witch has been one step ahead of all our plans…maybe I'm wrong, but until we know for sure who we can trust, I'm going to have to agree with Regina and keep this meeting between the four of us for now."

"Well, it's good to know that you really aren't as daft as you usually act," Regina said as she walked through the door, with a battered, tired looking Neal Cassidy trailing behind.

"Neal," Snow said, moving to embrace him, "It's good to have you back. I'm sorry we didn't give you time to rest but we felt it couldn't wait."

"Nah, it's all right. Besides, I don't think what I have to say should wait either. Blue was right, the witch is trying to find portals, and she's not just stopping at going back to Oz but back home, to where Emma and Henry are. And from what I've heard she's pretty close."

"But I thought the only portals were the beans? Did she somehow get a hold of one?" David asked.

"No, but I meet a guy, a wandering story teller who tells of a legend about the underworld. They say it connects everything, all the worlds. Makes sense, because no matter which world we're in, death is one thing they all have in common."

"That's it?" snapped Regina, "old wives tales from some vagabond! And even if it were true, we'd have to die to get to those portals and in case you haven't noticed people don't come back from the dead."

"Oh, that's what I thought," Neal said, his tone darkening, "but while we we're on route to the one of the smaller town's we we're ambushed by a small band of robbers. There was a fight…and one of them was stabbed. The sword went through his heart…he stopped…and then pulled it out and came at us like nothing happened."

"Are you sure?" Snow asked, "Maybe it missed his heart or maybe there was a spell?"

"No. It went through his heart…and he wasn't the only one. The village was almost deserted when we got there. Those who were there were preparing to leave and weren't too eager to talk. Clearly they were scared…and then we saw why. The village wasn't the only thing that was empty. The graveyard was also empty, the earth dug up and the graves open…"

"Necromancy?" David asked. "But does prove anything? Does that mean she's found a way in to the underworld?"

"Regina?" Snow asked, turning to the former evil queen.

"I don't know," Regina replied. "It may not be related…but if it is true it means someone is screwing around with death."

"Well, can you do anything to find out?"

Regina laughed. There was no humor in the sound. "I was an evil queen, dear, not a stupid one. Even I had some boundaries. I tried crossing that line once and it didn't work out well. I'm hardly the expert on this."

"So, what do we do now?" David asked.

"Maybe my dad had something in his library on it," Neal replied at last, "I can ask Belle to help us look. And maybe we can talk to the storyteller, he came back with us."

"You brought him here?" Regina asked.

"Well, he was fleeing like the rest of the town. And aside from the story, he did help Robin out when he got into a skirmish in town, and all he asked in return was to join his company."

"Great," Regina said, "Now we're running a boarding house."

"Well," David said, "if what Neal says is true, this border may be our link to some answers. Let's talk to him. Neal, go ask Belle about the library and then get some rest, you've earned it."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Usual disclaimers apply. Castle of Bones entirely made up. Irkalla and Erishkigal is taken from Babylonian mythology. This is a short chapter. Hopefully will post more tomorrow. Comments welcome

The Castle of Bones stood on the cliff overlooking the Black valley, the bleached white color of the structure a stark contrast to the dark lands below. Inside, two women sat across from each other in a lavishly decorated parlor. Like the land and the castle, both women were physical opposites: one dark haired and somber with pale skin and the other red haired and flamboyant with glaringly green skin. The thing they both had in common, however, was the blackness and jealousy that festered in their hearts like a stinking sore.

"Little sisters," Zeleena was saying, "are such troublesome creatures. Why should they get everything? Get spoilt rotten while we are cast out like trash."

"All because we are different," the dark haired woman replied, "All because we are not as pretty, or perfect. My dearest sister has dominion over a world of sunlight and beauty, while I am cast down into the bowels of this hell, with nothing but ghost and shades for company! I am so alone here."

"Ohh, not alone, Ereshkigal," the witch soothed, taking her companion's pale hand in her green one. "Never alone while you have friends."

"Oh, yes, Zeleena. And you have been such a good friend. I wouldn't know how to repay you."

"What if there was a way for us to repay our sisters for their treachery, for them taking what was rightfully ours? Will you be willing to help me?"

"What? How could that be possible? And what would you need from me?"

"Not what," the witch replied, a malicious smile spreading across her face, "who."

Rumplestillskin stood alone on a hill, looking out at the plains beyond. The lands were rocky, with a barren gray cast to it. Even the sky above had the same dismal cast, with the sun-or what passed for a sun here- casting a sickly, pale light.

"I don't see a gate, dearie," Rumple said to the figure that approached him. He didn't have to turn around to know that it wasn't Milah, but one of the other unfortunate departed souls, that approached. After their initial meeting, they had fallen back into their old relationship which involved her shooting vitriol at him. The only difference was that now he wasn't the docile spinner anymore. He shot back with enough hate and contempt to match her. If- and it was a big if- at any point in his journey to become a better man, he had started to feel a modicum of remorse for ripping her heart out, it was all gone now. He would gladly do it again, had they been living beings and not shades of their former selves. He had said as much to her in their last conversation and since that she had wisely avoided him.

"Aye, and that's the problem. No soul that's come through recently has seen the gate. It's the only way out of here, only way for us to move on."

"If no one who came through saw the gate how do you know that it was even here?"

"She saw it," the man who had introduced himself as Joron replied, tilting his head towards Milah. "She was here longer than most."

"Yes, and she is so well known for her honesty." Rumple replied with barely concealed sarcasm. "If she really did see this so called gate, why is she still here?"

"You cannot pass through the gate unless you give up your most precious possessions. She was not ready to do that. Not ready to die. Something in her old life holds her here."

Rumple thought about this. Closing his eyes he pictured Belle's face, Belle holding him, the softness of her touch, her kiss. Her words to him before he had left on Hook's cursed ship.

'I will see you again.'

He had told himself he was ready to die. Ready to pay what he thought was the ultimate price. And he was ready to sacrifice himself. But this was something entirely different. He could never willingly give her up, could never sacrifice her memory.

"The gate is lost to us. We are trapped," Joron said, his voice drawing Rumplestillskin back.

Rumplestillskin surveyed the barren wasteland before him. Being stuck here with this band of lost souls and Milah was not acceptable to him. But neither was walking though a gate that demanded his most cherished memories.

"Well, dearie, looks like we're going to have to find another way out."


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Usual disclaimers apply. I made up the book title on death and religions mentioned. Enki I borrowed from the Babylonians. I changed the whole scenario with Neal and the vault of the dark one because I'm just not ready to deal with that yet! Comments welcomed

Belle sat in the garden, head bent over the book she was holding. It was always almost deserted at this time of day and the quiet solitude among the roses made an excellent reading spot. Not that solitude really mattered, once she became engrossed in a book her surroundings faded: noisy tavern or tranquil garden, it made no difference. The words were the only thing that mattered: they lifted her like a flying carpet, transporting her away from the boundaries of her reality, if only for a moment in time.

"Orpheus and Eurydice," a voice said, startling her out of her reading.

"What?" Belle said, looking up.

"The book you are reading," the stranger replied. "I'm sorry if I startled you, but I am something of a collector of stories myself. I am called Enki."

"Belle. And it's quite all right," Belle replied. "So, you collect stories?"

"Yes I do. Some men collect wealth, some secrets, others names. I collect words. Stories. And the one thing they all have in common is that they are all a form of power."

Belle looked at the man before her as though she'd seen a ghost.

"Is something wrong? Did I give you offence?" Enki asked, suddenly concerned.

"No…" Belle stammered. "It's just what you said, about names and power; it just reminded me of someone, that's all."

"Someone dear to you?" Enki asked. Belle just nodded her reply.

"Ah, a lover? I would be quite honored to meet such a man as this. It seems we would have interesting conversations."

"He's…He died." Belle said, her lips having difficulty forming the words. She could feel a lump forming in her throat and her eyes burning as she fought the tears.

"I am so sorry. Do forgive an old man his foolishness…Now I understand why such a tale as Orpheus's would interest you."

Belle shook her head but did not look up. This stranger assumed that she was looking for some way to bring back her lost love. He didn't know she had already trodden that path, had found the answer hidden amongst her precious books, had almost succeeded. In the end the price had been too high. She could not pay it, could not let Neal pay it. And then every attempt after that had been fruitless, every lead she thought she had found turned out to be flights of fancy and fiction.

"No, that's not why I'm reading this. Anyhow, it's just a story."

"Ah…but all stories have a grain of truth. But I think I can find a more suitable tale for you." Enki said as he opened the satchel he was carrying and pulled out a slender volume bound in worn, brown leather. The spine was covered in faded gold characters that were not familiar to Belle. He brushed the surface of the book with his hand before handing it to her, bowing slightly as he presented his gift.

"It was such a pleasure meeting you, my dear. I hope you accept this small token as a symbol of a fool's apology and friendship for a fellow appreciator of stories."

The small group of wandering souls had stopped near the edge of a cliff. They watched as their strange companion surveyed the valley below, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Why are we stopped?" Joran asked after a while.

The man, formerly known as the Dark One, ignored him. He was deep in thought remembering something from literally a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes and opened them again, seeing not the dead world stretched out before him, but his home in the dark castle.

_He was at his spinning wheel, feeling the straw move through his calloused hands, listening to the soothing creak and waiting. Waiting for her to ask something. She always did…always wanted to know about his day, the places he visited, about himself and the strange things he collected. He had thought he would be irritated by this, in fact he felt he should be-he had a reputation to maintain after all- but he wasn't. In fact he had secretly come to enjoy her curiosity and reactions to his tales. So he waited now._

_ Silence. _

_He spun some more, waited some more and then finally it was his curiosity that got the better of him. He stopped spinning and turned around. With just a thought and a flicker, he was standing beside her, looking down at her, her head bent in a book. _

_ "What are you reading?" he said at last._

_ She jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped the book. He caught it easily before it could hit the floor. _

_ "I'm sorry," she replied, startled._

_ "No matter," he said casually, glancing down at the title on the book's cover. _

"_The Mortal Paths: A Comparative Study of Death from Xaronism to Elostism," he read aloud._

"_Some light reading before bed, dearie?"_

_ He regretted the quip as soon as he saw the pained expression on her face. But somehow he knew it had nothing to do with his teasing. She had been different today, withdrawn and distant. Of course he'd pretended not to notice, or told himself that princesses trapped in castles and forced to be maids were supposed to mope about, and this was long overdue for her. And then he'd avoided her until he saw her reading and assumed she was back to her usual self. But the tears that were swimming in those big blue eyes told him he had been wrong. He had to resist the urge to wipe away the one that had escaped, and was now streaking down her cheek. With a small wave he produced a silk handkerchief and handed it to her._

_ "Thank you," she said, drying her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just today…today is the anniversary of my mother's death."_

_ "I'm sorry," he said and was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it._

"_It was such a long time ago…some days I can't remember her face anymore, but what I remember was overhearing one of the Clerics tell my father that her soul would never find peace in the afterlife because she was still a heretic who believed in the Old religion."_

"_Those Clerics are ignorant old farts who prey upon the gullible. They know little about life and even less about death," he snorted derisively._

"_I know," she said, sniffling, "after that I decided I didn't want to listen to what they had to say, I wanted to find the answers for myself…my mother had always told me that the first step to truly believing something was to question it first. That truth should always be able to withstand scrutiny."_

"_She sounds like she was a very wise woman," he replies. He hesitates, then, before he could stop himself reaches for her hand. Somewhere, deep inside of him, under the scales of the monster stirs the man, the meek and gentle spinner who remembers what it was like to give comfort to a motherless child. This is the first time he has ever initiated a touch between them. He feels his panic rise and tries to pull away but she stops him. She places her other hand on top of his and squeezes it gently._

"_Thank you, Rumplestillskin."_

_Their eyes meet and he feels himself falling into those magnetic blue depths. He breaks the contact first, looking down at the book again._

"_Find anything interesting in this?" he asks._

"_They writers say that all of it, all the versions of the afterlife exists. He thinks it's just a shadow, created from belief and it's just a temporary place for the soul. They all move on from there. And what's more, they all intersect at common pathways, one being someplace called the Valley of Regret."_

"What is it? Why are we stopped?" Joran asked again.

"That, dearie," Rumplestillskin replies, "is our way out. The Valley of Regret."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Note: Apologies for the very short chapter- the muse was clearly off chasing rabbits and hunting eggs. Thanks for the reviews so far.

Neal walked along the path between the rose bushes heading towards the spot where Belle was. He saw her take a book from the story teller and flip it open. Good. He thought. He could talk to both of them together. Belle's keen mind would be an asset in questioning the man. His satisfaction turned into shock and horror when suddenly Belle vanished from the spot where she had been sitting, the book falling to the floor.

"Belle!" Neal cried, running to the spot. "What did you do?" he shouted, rounding on the storyteller. The older man shrugged nonchalantly. "I did nothing, I merely gave her a book." Neal grabbed the man, pulling him roughly by the front of his cloak. "Where is she?" he shouted.

"She's gone to meet your father," the storyteller replied and chuckled at the look of terror that spread across Neal's face. "Oh, she's not dead my dear boy. Now if you would be so kind as to release me I would tell you my story." Neal hesitated, weighing his options. Finally, he released the other man.

"Fine," he said, "But this isn't some tavern show. I ask the questions, you answer them."

"Direct, I like that."

"You said Belle went to meet my father? Where exactly did she go?"

"To the underworld, a place called Irkalla."

"Using that?" Neal gestured to the book, "Is is a portal?"

"Yes and no. It doesn't work like a magic bean or Jefferson's hat, if that's what you were thinking."

Neal glared at the man. Who was this guy? And how the hell did he know about these things? The storyteller waited, watching him, eagerly anticipating his questions.

"Show me how it works" Neal said finally. "I'm going after her."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. It's not a regular portal. It only works for those who have magic."

"Belle doesn't have magic," Neal replied.

"My dear boy, of course she does!" the other replied chuckling. "Do you think your father would have named her as his price for nothing more than a pretty face? No, Rumplestillskin was looking for a young lady with power to cast his curse-he couldn't see her face in the vision- but he knew she would be of royal blood. So he spent quite the time making deals and collecting princesses- babes or grown-it didn't matter once he sensed the power in them." Neal stared at the man, once again wondering how he knew all of this.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"My name is Enki. And it's time you hear my story."

The company moved down towards the valley, swiftly at first, but as they drew nearer and started to feel the effect of its power, they slowed. The dark one did not hesitate; he had lived three centuries with guilt and regret, a valley steeped in it gave him no reason to pause. In fact, it was finally familiar territory for him. His companions however were not faring so well.

"Stop," Milah's voice came from behind him. It was the closest she had been to him since their last fight and the first time she had spoken to him since that. "Stop, Rumple, stop…I'm not going in there. There must be another way." He didn't slow or turn. The terror in her voice gave him a feeling of satisfied delight. No doubt she was thinking of the day she had abandoned Bae. Oh, she had claimed she regretted it, had thought about it every day, but he knew her well enough to know that she was very good at shutting away uncomfortable and inconvenient feelings. Whatever regret she had felt, she had stuffed it away in a dark corner of her mind and continued her life with that marauding cur. Well now she was forced to face it, to accept it, to feel it the way he had. Whether she went in or not now, it didn't matter, it would haunt her however long it took for her miserable soul to leave this place. If she ever left.

"Suit yourself, dearie. You could stay here and rot for all I care. But I'm going in. And I'm getting out. If anyone follows is of no difference to me." With those words he stepped into the mist that covered the valley, leaving her standing and staring after him.


	6. Chapter 6

The usual disclaimers apply. Sorry for the late update but my computer died on me and that killed the muse. But like Rumple, it came back. The story is now officially AU. But it is still fun to write. Please read, enjoy and comment . Thanks for the comments so far!

Zelena sat in her castle holding the dagger in her hand. She slid her finger along the serrated blade, catching the tip on its sharp edge. She stared at the dark drop of blood that welled up over the broken green flesh and smiled. She rubbed it along the smooth blade, now devoid of a name- but not for very long. Ereskigal had been confused when Zelena had requested the dagger: it was nothing without the soul that accompanied it- and the rules were clear: said soul could only leave her kingdom if traded for another. "All in good time, darling," she had promised. And it seemed that good time was close at hand. She turned towards the ledge of a large window as a simian form landed noisily on its ledge.

"Back so soon, my pet?"

The reply was some guttural sounds and flapping of wings from the creature.

"Good. And he was there? He gave her the book as he said he would?"

The creature responded in the affirmative and the witch smiled. She glanced down at the dagger. Soon, when he was released back into this world, his name would appear. And then, Rumplestilskin, the Dark one, would be hers to control.

…..

Milah leaned against the trunk of a tree, its sturdy form supporting her weight as she gasped for breath. She had turned and ran, ran away from that cursed valley, back into the black woods, as fast and far as her legs could carry her. But still, she could not escape the emotions, the memories and the crushing weight of guilt that made it impossible to breathe. Sinking to her knees she bent her forehead against the rough bark and sobbed.

She remembered herself as a young girl, barely out of her teens and promised to a Spinner. Like all the peasant families, hers was large and poor. Daughters were merely extra mouths to feed with little prospect for income, and many were married early to ease the burden. She had not known the Spinner, or loved him. It was not the life she had wanted and she had said as much.

"Hush, child!" her mother had reprimanded, "Do not say such things! Life as a Spinner's wife will be easier than that of a farmer! Or would you rather toil in the stony fields under the elements all day? Besides, he may not be known as a brave man, but he is gentle. It is all a mother could ask for…and all a woman can hope for. Women in the Frontlands do not marry for love."

So she had married Rumple and played the dutiful wife. Her mother would have been pleased, she had even almost convinced herself that she loved him. But she had always been ambitious where Rumple was not. Oh, he was clever, but he was content to live his life in the hovel with the family he so desperately wanted. Milah had hoped the war would change that. She had heard that soldiers who served well were rewarded, given opportunities to improve their station. Surly a clever soldier could advance just as well as a brave one? And if he died in the war, she was told, the windows were handsomely rewarded…money enough for her to leave. She had felt a small tug of guilt and shame for thinking that at the time, but she was a survivor- an in order to survive she had to be practical- it was all that a woman could do in those lands. So she had tucked those emotions away and hoped for her new life, wed or widowed, it did not matter.

Then Rumple had deserted and all he hopes had slipped away. She felt herself tied to a life that she did not want, weighted down by the squalling babe she was not ready to be a mother to and a crippled coward.

"Don't you understand," she whispered to her son's ghost that haunted her now-it was ironic, she thought only the dead haunted the living, not the other way around. "I needed to leave, I needed to be free. I could never be a good mother…and Killian, Killian was my chance. I didn't have a choice…but he did! He wanted that life!"

"Please," she continued, "I had to let you go…and now, I have to let you go too, Killian. I need to leave here…I need to leave."

"And you shall," a voice said from behind her. She turned to face a pale skin, dark haired woman. "Just tell me, where did Rumplestillskin go?"

…..

The Dark One moved slowly through the marshy valley. He could feel the place, the darkness, the guilt clinging to him like a membrane, slowing his thought and movement. An ordinary man would have sunk down into the boggy depths by now, if he hadn't turn tale and run or been driven mad at the outskirts, but as he had long ago professed to Belle, he was not a man. Somewhere in the distance he felt something, a dark pull not born of regret or this place but something else- a blackness that predated all of this. A familiar stirring of power awoke inside of him and he knew in an instant what it was- a vault, deep and dark and filled with terrible souls, not of men but monsters. And how they called to him! Reflexively he felt his body turning, moving away from the light ahead towards this dark place.

'You're not a monster,' a voice said to him, clear blue eyes and a radiant smile swimming before him.

"Belle," he whispered.

'There is good in you. I see it. I've always seen it. Fight this.'

He found himself caught in limbo, unable to move. He could feel forces pulling at him in two opposing directions, a tangible feeling for the internal battle he had waged for more than three centuries. He was distracted enough that he almost missed the shadowy forms flying towards him, talons out stretched. He reacted instantly, hurling a ball of fire that had formed in response to his need at the creatures. They swerved away and turned, coming back around for another go. But Rumple was ready this time, launching a volley of flame at the creature from both hands. His aim was true and he watched as the two fiery forms came hurtling towards the ground with a blood curdling shriek.

Before he could register a satisfied smirk, he felt himself grabbed bodily and lifted from the ground into the air. As rapidly as he had felt the stirring of power in him come, he felt it die. It was as if the foul bird that held him now had somehow severed the dark connection with its wicked looking claws. Frantically he struggled within the creature's grasp, feeling it tighten its grip, squeezing until his consciousness started to slip. Slowly, he slumped forward as the creature bore his limp form away towards the Castle of Bone.

_He is back in the dark castle sitting at his spinning wheel. She comes to him then, wraps her arms around him and kisses him, slowly, softly. He could feel himself changing, feel the darkness being drawn from him as poison is drawn from a wound. She smiles at him and proclaims that it is true love and that his curse will be broken. Somewhere deep within he wants to rejoice, for darkness is a heavy burden and so is loneliness. But he is afraid and in that moment he is reminded of the coward he used to be. And suddenly he is angry at her, enraged at how vulnerable she makes him feel, enraged that she torments him with the promise of something that she may never fulfill. He grabs her roughly, his fingers like vices around her arms- he knows he is hurting her, bruising that milky white skin- but in his rage he does not care. He screams at her, rages, shouts accusations at her. He knows he should let her go, he knew he did let her go, but somehow the dream changes here. He lets her arms go but wraps his hands around her neck and squeezes, watching as the tears come and then as the light fades from those blue eyes._

"Belle," he wakes, screaming her name.

"Rumple, I'm here," she says, reaching for him, running her hands along his face.

"Belle?" he asks, sitting up. He reaches out for her, squeezes her shoulder to check if she is real, a gesture reminiscent of what he had done a lifetime ago. For a moment he thinks he has gone quite mad.

"Rumple," she says, sobbing his name. "Rumple, I thought I would never see you again."

"Belle," he says her name again, like a prayer in this dark place. "Belle, sweetheart, my beautiful Belle." Her cups her face in his hands, pulls her closes to him, their cheeks touching and tears mixing. He buries his face into her chestnut curls, breathing in her scent as he would the air. Finally he pulls away and meets her eyes.

"Belle," he says, his forehead creasing with worry, "What are you doing here? How?"

"Rumple, I'm sorry, I love you." she says, her voice choking. He could feel his panic rising as he contemplates the possibility.

"What did you do? What have you done?" He hears himself shouting. He does not mean to but fear has always triggered his rage. He struggles to control his voice. "Belle, please, what did you do?"

Before she can answer a voice responds.

"Freeing you of course, Dark one. Enjoy your last moments together. Soon you can leave but she will remain here, forever. The deal has been struck."

TBC.


End file.
